Dad?
by Redstrawberry900
Summary: Hermione finds out a secret - a secret that she can never tell anyone. But will they find out? SS/HG
1. Default Chapter

Rowena: I loved that name and was devoted to the person. My body craved her at every possible moment of my being and it was hard to hide it from Godric or Helga. Very hard. When your body needs something, it does not give you a chance to resist, although many a time I was reluctant to even try. 

She was very beautiful, living up to her name, Slender and fair. Her skin was the palest of beige, contrasting with her hair, which was the colour of night. It fell about her face delicately when she left it down, though she often pulled it into a twisted plait at the back of her head. Many a time I begged her to leave it down, telling her how beautiful she looked when she was like that. She always seemed flattered, but pulled it back anyway. It did, however, leave me in clear view of the nape of her neck, attracting me even more to the prospect of kissing it. 

She did love me for a while, this I am sure of, but I did not last. The prospect of having brave Godric protecting her instead of me, a cowardly wizard with no clear intentions seemed to be overpowering to her. Sly she called me more then once, sometimes a joke, but as an insult when we fought. We did only fight once and that was the last time. I was allowed nowhere near her when she went to Godric. He was very protective of her, and his hatred and distrust of me was enough to keep me at the opposite end of the room to her.

You cannot know how much that tortured me. His smug look as they jumped away from each other whenever I came in, and the hatred planted in her green eyes by Godric was enough to drive anyone mad. I stayed away from them as much as possible, becoming a recluse in my small room. I made it myself without any of them knowing it was there. They knew I went somewhere though, Helga calling it my Chamber of Secrets. Rather a pathetic name if you ask me, but it stuck with the rest of them, and was known as that by anyone who came to visit whilst I was in there. 

The day she announced to the rest of us that she was having Godric's child I did explode and hit out at him. She was the one that stopped me from killing him. Weak and powerless against her pleading eyes, I stopped in the middle of my incantation, dropped him and stormed off to my chamber to fume by myself. 

I stayed in there for longer than anyone knew. I think they forgot about me, and never came looking, or if they did they were not clever enough to find the entrance. And even if the had found the small snake engraved on the copper pipe, they would never have been able to enter, none of them having the gift of Parseltongue. 

I take that back. She was clever enough to find that tap, but it was not her fault that she could never get down to apologise. I am sure she wanted to apologise, but maybe it was better that she never found me, as I may have killed her. My wrath had taken over every reasonable thought in my memory and I cursed the day that she was born. Friday, July 13th. All Friday 13th's are now cursed because of my caveman interior. Even the muggles know that it is cursed and fear every time it comes. The thousands of unemployed wizards and witches all over the country now sell talismans, and they make a fair profit. 

I did come out eventually, not being able to live on rats, and too utterly stupid to even think of using my wand. She was most definitely pregnant, and it showed. Badly. My deadly scowl, which I am quite proud of, never left my face after that. Mere twitches at the corners of my mouth were the only difference, and they only came when watching my basilisk play. He was young then, a mere two years of age, and was still learning the basics of hunting. His eyes not being deadly enough yet, I was able to watch, though it brought little amusement. I had spent years breeding basilisks for my friends, and they all thought they were brilliant, before they found out that their stare was deadly. When I asked them how they found out, all I received was a blank look and an unblinking stare. Probably because they were dead by then.

She had them in the end. I say them, as there were two. Twins, by the names of Brenna and Laveda. Brenna was an exact replica of her mother and again lived up to her name, raven maid, dark-haired. Laveda on the other hand was a redhead, with her mother's green eyes. She was uncommonly pretty, and I left her to her own devices, but I cursed Brenna because she looked like her mother. Her descendants would all be male's, until one was a female. This child would be in Gryffindor, and she would capture the heart of a true Slytherin and change him. He would learn to love her, until he became all the qualities that I wasn't. All the qualities that Rowena didn't find in me, bravery, courage and truthfulness. His intentions would become immediately clear to her, and if she was not satisfied, I would have failed, and I swear, then I will stop loving her. Then I will stop needing her. 

The first part of my plan went well. Everyone agreed that we needed something to choose the houses for the pupils at our school, after we were dead. I suggested Godric's hat, which got a shocked reaction, but nevertheless they all agreed. Fools. I offered to charm the hat so it could choose the houses, and while doing so I put a smaller charm on it to make it know when Brenna's first female descendant came to this school and she would be in Gryffindor. 

I scare myself with my own cleverness, sometimes. Now all I have to do is wait for that day when she comes. I will find a way, in someone no one will think of. I have always like the name Dumbledore and my brother was named Albus. Yes, Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts. 

I, Salazar Slytherin promise that I will get my revenge. 

*

Downstairs they raged. Hermione could hear their voices – her father's loud and blunt, like a club, and her mother's, high and jabbering, just like it always was before she cried. A last cutting remark from her father, and then the door was slammed. The sound of a car revving up and then driving away. Fear flashed through her brain – fear for her father driving like that, dangerous and out of control.

She could hear her mother sobbing in the living room. Hermione could imagine her from all the other times, sitting in a hunched position and crying into a saturated tissue, the sobs racking her body as she desperately tried not to wake her daughter. Cautiously, as if someone was watching her, Hermione slipped out of her bed and went to stand in the threshold of her room. She couldn't go down there. Not after that last time. The image of her mother, almost blue with bruises and a gushing nose bleed would haunt her forever. 

But she had to go down – had to comfort her mother, tell her that her father was a pig and not worth her tears. Tell her to forget him, and to hope he never comes back. A deep hate boiled inside her as she thought of her father. She only feared his driving because he might kill an innocent person. She couldn't care less if he died. 

Quickly, Hermione strode back to her bed and picked up the box of tissues next to it, and then went down the stairs slowly. She didn't rush, half wanting to hurry back upstairs and hide her head in the pillow and wait for sleep to come. Half of her hated having to comfort her mother in the dead hours of the morning. But the other half didn't mind it – and it was this half that usually prevailed. That half didn't mind going to down to help her mother through it.  

Hermione hesitated in front of the living room door. Apprehension twisted her stomach in a knot. Would she find her mother like she was before? Would she be hurt more? Less? Trying to ignore the questions that plagued her, she pushed open the door.

Her mother was sitting on the sofa, but she seemed alright. No serious bruises or cuts. Hermione walked over and sat next to her, pulled the crumpled and soggy tissue out of her mother's hands, and pushing another, dryer one, into her fumbling fingers, then put an arm around her shoulders. She was used to this, used to her mother crying into her shoulder, used to her mother pouring out problems to her. 

For how long they stayed in that one position, Hermione didn't know. All thoughts were wiped out of her head when her mother's voice, calm now, and quiet, broke through the muffling silence. 

"I think I should tell you now. Yes, I should tell you. I just…don't know how to put it."

"You know you can tell me anything." Hermione hated these conversations. She wanted it to be the other way round, with her fumbling over words, and her mother as the calm, collected figure that you poured all your problems out to. She hated saying any words that sounded as if she was the mother, as if she was the one giving her mother advice about the world. How could she give sound advice? She knew little about the world as of yet.

"Your father…he hates me ever since he found out…ever since I told him about…Hermione, your not his daughter."

*

Disclaimer: As of yet, I don't own a thing, but I have contacts, so you never know. I do, however, own the plot, and it is mine for the keeping. Unless you ask very nicely.

Well, prologues are allowed to be short. I promise I will do a bit of explaining next chapter. 

Redstrawberry900.


	2. Chapter 1

Hermione was silent for a moment, staring at her mother. All sorts of crazy thoughts rushed through her head, but she didn't voice any of them. It was easier to keep going once you've started. 

"I want you to understand, Hermione that your father, my husband, has cared for you ever since you were born. He taught you to ride that bike of yours, and he was the one that was there for most of your life. Your biological father has never seen you; he doesn't even know you exist. I would never want you to think ill of my husband."

Hermione nodded, not able to bring herself to speak.

"It begins, I suppose, when I met him. Living in a small town in Scotland, there weren't many places to go – probably the most interesting was a tiny pub just around the corner from my house. I wasn't supposed to go in there for a few years, but I knew the landlord, and after a few talks I managed to convince him that I was mature enough to have a drink. He sat next to me, at the bar, looking a bit pale. He was young, and handsome, and I couldn't help noticing that he fiddled with a pocket in his coat a lot.

"Being fifteen, I was always on the look out for potential boyfriends, and this guy seemed right up my street. He was one of those quiet types, which made a change from the idiots at the local comprehensive. I struck up a conversation, and soon found that he was very interesting as well as cute. I lost all track of time, but by the time I set off home, I had a date for next Saturday. 

"That Saturday, I met him at the edge of the village, as promised, and he put his hands over my eyes and told me he was taking me to a special place, that I couldn't tell anyone about. It was as if I was flying for a moment, then he let me look around. He had taken me to what seemed like another small village, but this one was full of the strangest people. I know now that they were hags, and giants, people from films, but I didn't say anything. I didn't want him to think I disapproved of his home town.

"We went to a place called the Hogshead for something he called butterbeer. It was the best drink I had ever had, and we soon got talking again. Everyone in the pub seemed to know him, even the landlady – Madam Rosmerta, I think her name was. Anyway, we got talking again, and I found myself absolutely under his spell. He was so handsome, and so charming, that I couldn't resist."

Her mother paused for a minute, watching Hermione. Her hands were slippery with sweat and her mouth and lips were dry with apprehension. Hermione couldn't fix one emotion in her mind. 

"We went on several other dates, to various places. Sometimes they were normal, and other times they would be in places I didn't think existed on this planet. I never said anything; for fear that I may hurt him. He was a bit of a recluse to begin with, but whatever I managed to get out of him was a little strange. He said he went to a school named Hogwarts, and his favourite sport was Quidditch. I began to wonder if I was dating a lunatic, but this lunatic was a very good kisser, so I never pursued the subject. 

"It was about three months after that, that we…erm…celebrated my sixteenth birthday. Being naïve, I never cared to think about any type of protection, and apparently, neither did he. It was the day after that, that he came round and said he had to talk to me.

"He explained everything, telling me he was a wizard, and he went to a school for wizards, and all his friends were witches and wizards. Unfortunately, it was at that point that I decided he was definitely strange, and I broke it with him." She sighed, as if regretting it, and then carried on. "I believed him, but I was scared of what he could do.

"It was then that I noticed the attention your father had been giving me. He was loud and rowdy, like many of the boys at my school, and it made such a contrast to him, that I was immediately attracted to him. We got into a relationship very quickly, too quickly. When I found out I was pregnant, I was pretty sure that my baby was your father's. I spent forever debating how to tell him. Would he dump me immediately, or would he be pleased? My parents hadn't taken it too well, so I wasn't ready for another person to walk away from me. I was forced to tell him, though.

"I always knew I was going to keep any baby that came my way, and you were no different, even if your father did dump me. I needn't have worried, though. Your father was ecstatic about it, and that evening he asked me to marry him.

"Well, I had just finished school, had no idea where I was going, and pregnant. What else could I say? It was your father that introduced me to dentistry. I'd never really thought about it before, but it seemed a good prospect – to be working with your husband at the same place. I accepted the idea, and my life seemed to be going well for once.

"But when I had you, my life took a dip. You looked nothing like your father, or me. I knew who you looked like, and I decided to tell your father then, that you weren't his child. He took the same view as me when I told him. I had laughed at your biological father, and so your father laughed at me. I believed the wizard talk, and desperately tried to convince your father that it was true. He thought I was talking rubbish, and went on believing that you were his child.

"I think he began to get a little suspicious when you got your first Hogwarts letter. He never said anything, but he became slightly more hostile towards me. I think it was when you came home after your third year, gabbling his name without a clue, and telling us what an amazing defense against the dark arts teacher he was, that he finally believed me. Even then, he didn't confront me, just went on living his life. We began to talk less and less civilly towards each other, and it ate away at him for two years. Then, after your fifth year at Hogwarts, we began to fight.

"I have never contacted your biological father again." She finished. Hermione watched her mother in shock. 

"Who is it? My real father, who is he?"

"Oh, his name is Remus Lupin."

*

Adrian Granger sat at the pub, with yet another drink in front of him. All he asked was for a decent job, a wife and a child. A child that was his. Not some lunatics. He sighed into his drink, and watched the other customers laugh and joke around him. Occasionally raucous laughter would test the limits of his ear drums, but otherwise the chatter of everyone else seemed to fade into the background.

He wasn't jealous, of course he wasn't jealous. Why would he be jealous of a lunatic? Well, if he admitted it to himself he was a little jealous. Who wouldn't be? His wife had been in a relationship with another man and had his child, but hadn't had any children with her husband. It was only natural to be jealous, especially after being told numerous times what an amazing teacher this man was.

He still loved Hermione dearly, but couldn't get over the fact that he had been bringing up someone else's child, a maniacs child at that. Why hadn't he believed Jill, his wife, in the first place? It would have caused him a lot less fuss. 

He didn't know why he took it out on Jill anyway. It wasn't her fault really. He just needed some time on his own, but she had driven him away. Catching the eye of a blonde two seats away, he smiled.

Why couldn't he have a normal life?

*

Disclaimer: As much as I try, I cannot conjure up a solid Severus Snape that will say he is mine. Ergo, everything else to do with Harry Potter is not mine.

This was definitely worse than the last chapter. Most definitely. I'm sorry all you people that managed to get down here without falling asleep. Anyway, thanks to all my lovely reviewers and I promise this has something to do with Severus. I know I promised a longer chapter, but promises can be broken.

Redstrawberry900. 


	3. Chapter 2

I had forgotten what it is like to be in the midst of a muggle slaughter, with grinning death eaters on all sides, laughing derisively as they twist their victims into grotesque shapes. My heart pounds in my throat as they push me to the front of the group, obviously expecting me to find the same pleasure out of it as they do. 

I cannot bring myself to torture them anymore. A wave of my wand and a burst of green light; a quick death. Yet more to be added to my personal list of victims. Around me they groan in annoyance. It is over now, and they must go; they can't capture any more muggles now, it would be too dangerous.

They disapparate, and for a while my ears play the sound of the loud pops again and again. I am left alone now, left to stare at the dead muggles. My body threatens to let me taste my dinner again, but I swallow hard, and force myself to go on for a little longer.

My wand is still clutched in my hand, and I point it at the muggles again, but this time they go up in flames, soon leaving piles of ashes. I stay rooted to the spot for a moment that seems like eternity, before disapparating to just outside Hogwarts.

My mask fell off what seems like an age ago, and there is blood plastering my face, and soaking my cloak, and my muscles ache as I stumble as fast as I can towards the castle. Madam Pomfrey is waiting for me in the door as usual, her face twisted in worry. I brush past her, ignoring her incessant fussing.

I know Dumbledore will be waiting for me in my dungeon. Why do I live down there? In the cold, and the dark. He is sitting on my chair, but he stands up when I come in.

"How was it?" Is the first question he asks. His voice sounds so different from the sneers of the death eaters – quiet, with no awful laughter threatening to escape after every sentence. 

I cannot answer, as the words have become caught in my throat. I am forced to my hands and knees as I am sick. Unwelcome tears leak out, but I cannot brush them away and I will not hide them. My pride stops me from doing that. 

I hate this, I hate it. Why did I ever force myself into it in the first place? To prove I could do anything they could. I could stand the cruciatus for as long as them, I could kill. I soon realized that killing is neither big nor clever. But by that time it was too late.

I pull myself up off the floor. I will not let Albus help me. It was me that got myself into these problems, and therefore me that will deal with the consequences. My robe slips up my arm as I get up, and shows the dark mark – a deep, vivid red; not black as it was when he called me. It leaves a constant feeling of dread wherever I go. Will I be making an excuse to go again tonight? Albus will not fall for the potions excuse for much longer. I do not think he knows how many times I go.

"Severus. What happened?"

I am silent again. How can I answer that question? Well, I arrived, Voldemort tortured me for the third time this month, I watched the death eaters playing with some muggles for an hour, and then I killed them. No, somehow I don't think that is the answer he would like to hear. 

"Severus. Answer me. What happened?"

I fight not to scream in frustration at the tone of his voice. "It's getting harder each time, Albus. They are becoming more and more open with their kidnappings. Five children were taken tonight, out of twelve people. They are getting careless. Adults, well, they will investigate, but after a while they will be given up for dead and that'll be the end of it. People will forget them quickly. But children. They are different. No one forgets child kidnappings – I've seen their news. 'Sarah White still not found after six months.' They don't give up with children."

Dumbledore sighed heavily, "I know, I know."

"It's getting easier for the ministry to find us. It's all over the Daily Prophet about how they keep finding piles of ash around. Dead muggles."

"Well, at least they aren't finding bodies, thanks to you."

"That's the problem. I don't think I'm going to have time soon. The ministry is arriving at the sites quicker and quicker. They'll see me one day Albus, and then were will I be? A prison cell in Azkaban. Nothing you will say will make any difference this time. They are already suspicious of me from when they held my trial seventeen years ago. Everyone who can remember will see me as a death eater for the rest of my life, whatever I do. I'll never be anything else to them." I say bitterly. Dumbledore sighs, and walks over to the mantelpiece, leaning on it and watching the only picture I have in my room. A small image of my family, blinking and scowling. "It would probably be better if I were dead. At least the Fudge wouldn't have to put himself out to avoid me whenever he comes for a routine check on the school."

He looks up at this. It is plain that he is shocked. "Do you not think some people would miss you if you died, Severus?"

I chuckle slightly at this. "I doubt it. Well, I suppose Voldemort would miss my skills, and Black would miss being able to pick on someone, but otherwise no, I do not believe anyone would miss me."

"Then I have failed you even more than I know." He says it in a quiet voice, as if he doesn't want me to hear it, but it would be better if he was telling me straight to my face. 

"I'm tired, Albus. I'll get the house elves to bring me some food." I only say this last bit to reassure him. He will worry himself to death if he thinks I am not eating again. He nods, and then makes to leave, but just before he reaches the door he turns. 

"Severus, can I persuade you not to go to another meeting? We will manage without your information."

I shake my head, and he sighs, and then goes. He did that to make me feel guilty, and it's worked. Insufferable man.

*

Hermione stared at her mother in dumb shock. It took her a while to get a sentence out. "Re-Remus Lupin?" Her mother nodded, and looked at the floor. She couldn't meet her daughter's eye.

As much as Hermione tried, it wouldn't sink in. Her father was Remus Lupin. And then it hit her. Her father was a werewolf. The silence between mother and daughter was so acute; you could almost hear Hermione's mouth hit the floor. 

"I think I'm going to go to my room now." Her mother nodded, understanding her daughter needed time. She watched her daughter leave the room, and sighed. There was so much more that she needed to tell her – the night he had told her about his…his, she couldn't even bring herself to think it. She had never wanted to inflict that upon her daughter, never, but in doing so without any conscious memory of it, well, she didn't know how she stayed sane.

It had been hard telling her all that, watching her reactions, gauging how much to say. However, as much as she wanted Hermione to know everything about her father, there were some things you just didn't say. She remembered all the times she had to participate in conversations she knew nothing about, nodding occasionally, and laughing when everyone else did. She remembered having to hold onto his wand every time she went into the Hogshead, where someone might know him. She remembered the strangeness of it all, and the confusion. No, these were the things that you just didn't say.

*

Hermione raked through her large collection of wizard books feverishly, finally finding the book she was looking for: Werewolves: A general guide. Thank God for Severus Snape. He had pushed her into doing an essay on a subject she knew next to nothing about. Granted, she could tell the difference between a werewolf and a true wolf, and she knew how to kill one, but their history, the science of it all – no, that she had known nothing about. 

She flipped the book open, and flicked to the page she wanted. Chapter 9: Siblings. She hadn't studied this bit in great detail. It didn't seem relevant. The script entranced her as her eyes expertly scanned the pages for useful information. Finding it, she proceeded to read thus:

**It is a commonly known problem that the breed of werewolves (or canine sapiens) is beginning to die out, due to large amounts of cross-breeding with mortals. The effect of a werewolf and a mortal producing an offspring creates a different breed known as feline sapiens or catar. The result of a werewolf and a mortal having a child causes the wolf gene to become a cat gene, and the offspring only becomes sensitive to blue moons. The reasons for this mutantising of these genes are unknown. **

Hermione almost dropped the book in shock. She stared at the pages as if they might hurt her in some way. She was dimly aware that her mother was moving around downstairs and this brought her back to the problem at hand. Had her mother known about Re-her father being a werewolf? Deciding she would ask her mother in the morning, she put the book down and lay on her back staring at the ceiling. That was the end of the excitement for tonight, she told herself. Go to sleep. 

That was when her father crashed through the door, roaring drunkenly.

*

Disclaimer: Just a question. If I owned Harry Potter, would I be: a. broke

 b. eating rotten cheese or

 c. writing this? No, I thought not.

I have 77 reviews. I am absolutely stunned. I would love to put a long list of everyone who has reviewed, however, it would take too long, and it would stop me from writing the next chapter. If you reviewed, you know who you are and you now know that I love you very much. Thank-you! 

Redstrawberry900

P.S.      To anyone who has asked me to e-mail them when I update: I'm so sorry, but I'm in-between e-mails at the mo. My Dad's away for another month and he's the only one that understands how to get the stupid address working. Our old one has been taken away, so I am without e-mail. Annoying really. 

PP.S.   Catar = cat + lunar

PPP.S.             Canine sapiens = Canine (dog) + sapiens (homo sapiens = humans)

                        Feline sapiens = Feline (cat) + sapiens (I think you get the picture)


	4. Chapter 3

The shouts coming from downstairs were enough to make anyone scream in fear. Hermione lay on her bed, curled into a tight ball, nursing the new bruise on her face, and listening to her mother and him arguing. It was Hermione he wanted to see, Hermione who seemed to be the cause of his anger tonight. She hadn't gone down when she heard him bursting through the door, drunk, the knowledge of being hurt of she went down already planted deep into her memory. She just had to wait it out, and hope to God that her mother wouldn't be hurt. It was when she hard his feet pounding on the stairs, that she realized he wasn't interested in hurting her mother anymore. No, he was bored of that; he needed a new target.

He had smashed through the door like an angry rhino, bellowing at her, and waving his arms around manically. She couldn't make out the exact words he was shouting, as he slurred them drunkenly, but she caught three of the words as he spat them spitefully. Not my daughter. Not my daughter. He kept repeating those words again and again, as he strode towards her, his eyes wide and bulging with anger. 

Hermione shrunk away as far as she could from him, fiery tears forcing their way into existence. Her mother was pulling at his arm, trying desperately to turn his attention to her, afraid for her daughter, but he didn't pay any attention, just brushed her off carelessly. He was intent on making his anger known, in anyway he deemed needed. He moved right up close to her, and screamed something unrecognizable into her face, before scrunching his hand into a tight fist. 

Time seemed to slow for all three of them as he brought his hand forward towards her face. Hermione watched it, terribly afraid as it came towards her eye. The pain didn't come for a second after his hand made contact with her face, a second that lasted for eternity. Then, all of a sudden, a horrific stringing took over her right eye, making her bring her hand up to her face to cover it, and her eye to screw up in pain. That was enough for her mother. Finding strength from nowhere, she grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face her, screaming obscenities at him. Hermione only caught a few of them, all her concentration on her eye.

His need for revenge on Hermione fulfilled, he turned his attention to his screaming wife; another target. He begun to lumber towards her, but she backed out through the door, still shouting and cursing at him, leading him away from her daughter and downstairs. Hermione climbed onto her bed and curled into a small ball, holding her legs up to her face, and crying silently. 

The war downstairs carried on, the awful screams echoing up to Hermione, who desperately tried to block them out, to ignore the fact that she was living in World War three for one night, just one, so she could have a decent night's sleep for once. It was driving her crazy, and she was fed up of it. The yells of Adrian Granger drowned out her mother's. 

"No more, please. No more of this. Stop yelling please, stop it." She whispered into the pillow. 

All of a sudden, there was silence in the house. Hermione's ears pricked of their own accord, listening desperately. Fears chased themselves around her brain, each more crazy than the last. Had he hurt her? Had he hurt her so much that she couldn't speak? Had he killed her? She trembled in fear as she waited. 

She didn't have to wait long. Soon there were footsteps on the stairs again, but quieter this time, lighter. Hermione couldn't help flinching at the sound. Jill walked in and sat next to her daughter, putting her hand on her trembling back, feeling her start again. 

"Hermione? It's me."

Slowly, her daughter took her face out of the pillow. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks were striped with dried tears. Blackness was already clouding around her eye, as she watched her mother warily. 

"He's gone Hermione." She smiled at her daughter and kissed the top of her head. "It's just us."

Her daughter nodded slowly, as if the information wasn't registering as quickly as it should, as if she was still unsure. Jill moved up closer to her daughter, who sat up and leaned against her mother, fresh tears leaking into her clothes. Jill put her arm around her daughter and kissed her head again, reassuring her, even though she was crying too, desperate tears of longing. Longing to be rid of him, rid of the only thing she couldn't let go. 

"It's going to be alright, isn't it, mum? Isn't it?" Hermione sounded like a toddler desperate for something to grasp onto. She needed to see the light at the end of the tunnel, as it seemed to be covered now. Jill didn't know what to say. If she said yes, and it turned out that nothing became alright, what sort of guilt would she feel?

"Yes Hermione, it's going to fine."

The conversation had switched from an hour ago; it was now Hermione who wanted the advice, and her mother who was giving it. It felt alien to the both of them, as it had been the other way round since Hermione was fifteen, since the fights had started, but it was the way it should be, and a strange sort of contentment settled in both of them. So much so, that Hermione fell asleep leaning against her mother. 

Jill laid her daughter gently onto her bed, and watched her for a moment. There was a peaceful smile residing on her face, as different from the absolute terror as Adrian hit her as a lamb is different from a lion. Forcing that picture out of her mind, Jill went down to the kitchen to see if there was anything remotely normal to do. As she moved down the stairs slowly, she noted that one of the boards creaked. She would have to ask Adrian to see to it. No, wait, he wouldn't have anything to do with her. 

Finding nothing to do, she went to sit at the scrubbed wooden breakfast table. She loved Adrian with a deep passion, yet she hated him with the same passion. Passionate love could turn into hate, she reasoned, there was a very thin line between them. She had thought of leaving before, and taking Hermione with her. Just upping and going all of a sudden. See how he liked to wash and cook for himself. But whenever she had planned everything out, and she was sure she hated him more than anything, he did something for her – brought her some flowers or some tickets to the theatre. Then she would falter, and tell herself that he really wasn't that bad, and discard her plans as spur of the moment rubbish. 

_I was naïve; your love was like candy_

_Artificially sweet, I was deceived by the wrapping_

_Got caught in your web and I learned how to bleed_

_I was prey in your bed and devoured completely_

_And it hurts my soul 'cause I can't let go all these walls are cavin' in_

_I can't stop my sufferin'_

_I hate to show that I've lost control 'cause I _

_I keep going right back to the one thing that I need_

_To walk away from_

_I should have know that I was used for amusement_

_Couldn't see through the smoke; it was all an illusion_

_Now I've been lickin' my wounds, but the venom seeps deeper_

_We both can seduce but darling you hold me prisoner_

_Oh I'm about to break, I can't stop this ache_

_I'm addicted to your allure, and I'm fiendin' for a cure_

_Every step I take leads to one mistake_

_I keep going right back to the one thing that I need_

_I'm about to break and I can't stop this ache, getting nothing in return_

_What did I do to deserve the pain of this slow burn?_

_And everywhere I turn I keep going right back to the one thing that I need_

_To walk away from_

_Every time I try to gasp for air, I am smothered in despair it's never over, over_

_Seems I'll never wake from this nightmare, I let out a silent pray_

_Let it be over, over_

_Inside I'm screaming, begging, pleading no more_

_No what to do, my heart has been bruised, so sad but it's true_

_Each beat reminds me of you_

_And it hurts my soul 'cause I can't let go all these walls are cavin' in_

_I can't stop my sufferin'_

_I hate to show that I've lost control 'cause I _

_I keep going right back to the one thing that I need, Oh_

_Oh I'm about to break, I can't stop this ache_

_I'm addicted to your allure, and I'm fiendin' for a cure_

_Every step I take leads to one mistake_

_I keep going right back to the one thing that I need, Oh_

_I can't mend this torn state I'm in_

_Getting nothing in return what I do to deserve_

_The pain of this slow burn_

_And everywhere I turn I keep going right back_

_To the one thing that I need to get away from_

_*_

Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter????? YAY *runs to bank and gets out millions of pounds from blatant merchandising but finds nothing except a spider web* Damn, I've been taken by those damn stupid adverts again. 'You can own Harry Potter with this or that.'

Right, only four pages. Not that long. But it is Easter. Happy Easter everyone! *Throws chocolate eggs at everyone who has reviewed*

Thanks:

Redone: Thanks for pointing that out. It's kinda part of the plot for it to be like that though so I can't really change it. Can't say anymore.

kittygirl1220: Don't be annoyed. I have the next chapter up!

sammis: Thanks!

Rufus: Thanks!

Lucent: Cool name.

Silverstar: Thank-you!

JLF: Are you sure your name isn't JKR? 

JoeBob1379: I've fixed that little mistake at the end of chappie 3 now. I laughed when you pointed it out to me. And yes, Dumbledore is a little older than 150.

Dragoneyes: Thanks! 

Silindro: I don't think a lot of people saw it coming. That's the beauty of it.

piper: I've been dying for a review from you. I've seen you all over this section. Thanks for reviewing.

eris wannabe: Actually I hadn't spotted the thing with lunatic. Ah well.

Daria-B: Are you usually talkative?

Bunny: That is such a sweet name!

Li-Chan: You will have to wait I'm afraid. Is your name Chinese?

Luna-Elentari: When you're listening to something like that, little things don't really register. It's like when you're listening to someone telling you that someone's dead. You don't really listen to how after you've been told their dead. Or at least, I don't.

Jade: Yes, this is a SS/HG romance.

azabeth99: Like I said to Luna-Elentari, you don't really register the little things. Well done for spotting that though.

Meriadoc/Celithrathien: Hmm, it does kinds ruin it, but that has something to do with the plot.

Laylana-Fairyweather: Wow! I didn't think it was that good.

Rain: Thanks! 

Doneril: More will be explained later.

Amber: Thanks for reviewing.

Flamekitty: Food? No, that's things like chocolate and chocolate cake and chocolate ice-cream. As hard as I tried I couldn't get the monitor in my mouth, let alone chew. I was reduced to sucking on the screen. No, not like that! 

Riley: I thought Remus would make a good daddy too. He just seems that type.

Silvermoon: They do have a lot of similarities don't they? It's like JKR meant it to happen in canon. Ooh, scary thought.

PatsySO: Thanks! I'm not sure many people were expecting it actually. That's the fun.

Jen_the_writer: Wicked!

Sarah Riddle: Ha! You shall just have to wait and see.

Minerva of Tortall: Breathe, breathe. It's not that good.

SperryDee: Thanks!

Alley: Thanks.

michelline: Thanks!

If I've missed anyone off, I am eternally sorry. I have typing cramp now. It's a bit like writing cramp except your fingers hurt instead. 

As you will know, it is the Easter hols at the mo, but in exactly 1 week I will be off to school again (boo!) and won't be able to update as much. I'm telling you this now so you don't kill me when I take forever to update. I promise I will update at least once a week. Oh yeah, and the song is Walk Away by Christina Aguilera. How can you fit so many brilliant songs onto one album? 

Redstrawberry900. 


	5. Chapter 4

They say you can tell a man by what he has to say. He has nothing to say. Nothing of consequence, everything of importance is trapped by his hate of the world, and of himself. He will never forgive himself, and so will never heal. The cuts and bruises on his body will mend in time, yes, but the dementors living in his head will forever keep the hurt of his memory bleeding. His life is slowly being saturated by bitter blood and there is nothing he can do to stop it. Not unless he tries, but he enjoys living in his past, thinks he is learning from his mistakes. The sand in his hourglass is running out. Insanity; a slow death.

Other people have tried of course. Trying desperately to burrow deep into his pain and despair to plant a seed of hope and see it grow and flourish. They are too late. Any flower that they plant now will be doomed to be suffocated by the blood. Only he can sow his seeds, but the darkness of his mind and the dryness of his misery killed off anything that once lived there. The young child that once laughed has been buried deep inside. _Go deep inside yourself, he had learnt, __and if you go deep enough no one can find you. No one can hurt you. _

So he sits vigilantly in front of the hearth re-living it all in his brain like he does every night. Since he was old enough to think about it, he had noticed he was nothing short of uninviting. He knew he was no Adonis, no James Potter… He knew he was not the type of man women fell in love with. Women like Lily… women in general. Thank Merlin he wasn't someone like Lockhart who was so vain he needed to see himself in the mirror to confirm his existence. No, he didn't need to look. He already knew every ugly line on his face and he hated it. Nothing short of a beauty charm more powerful than veritaserum would ever change his mangled appearance. He did not need daily scrutiny of his image to realize that.

It wasn't as if he had to try anymore. No one would care anyway, so he could neglect his appearance as much as he wanted to, repulse the people around him as much as he needed. It wasn't as if he needed anyone. He was perfectly fine living on his own, in fact he was better. Physically, he could enjoy no one's company. Any soft touch would turn into a knife piercing his skin. Any sympathetic look would morph into hate; disgust. Something inside him would not allow anyone to care for him, and refused to see anyone trying.

He didn't tolerate care or sympathy. It was himself that made him like this, and it was him that would deal with the consequences of it. He needed no help. Was that why he joined the death eaters? To get away from it all? To live a different life and pretend that nothing around him had ever happened? Because he was scarred from that experience, and maybe if he ignored it, it would go away? Lily had made that experience one of the worst of his life, and he loathed her for it.

As much as he hated Lily it had hurt when she died. He should have told someone about Peter.He knew that he was a death eater, but at what price? It would seem too suspicious if he had told anyone. And anyway, at that point, he hated her for what she did. But it was meant to happen wasn't it? Destiny. What was this rubbish? He had never believed in divination crap. He made his own destiny. So why didn't he save her? This is your fault, Severus, why did you let it happen, he asks himself. Because you are weak and pathetic, comes the unwelcome answer. But why Lily you fool? Why the one person who understood you? Why her? Dead…gone…

It hurt now. Hurt like someone had just ripped his heart out and thrown it at him in spite. Gone…everything he had ever hoped for…gone…dead, buried. 

"Severus?" Dumbledore is at the door. "Can I speak to you please?"

*

The moment Hermione woke she reached over the side of her bed and picked up the book on werewolves. She didn't want to think about last night, and books were the only things that allowed her to delve deep into another world and forget the one she was living in. She flicked through the pages until she came to the paragraph she had read, and after looking at it again, she carried on. 

**Although the Wolfsbane potion (a recent discovery that allows werewolves to keep their mind when they transform) is now being distributed through wizarding hospitals worldwide, there is no such remedy for catar's. A formula is being worked on; however the irregularity of blue moons makes it almost impossible for any one person to test their theory more than once in a lifetime. Many wizards and witches are resorting to centaurs for reliable information on exactly which years blue moons are going to occur. **

**With the absence of any remedy for catar's, there has been a rising increase in deaths throughout the population. Whereas a werewolf bite will turn the recipient into a werewolf, a catar bite is fatal. The mutantising of the werewolf gene has caused it to become much stronger, and a witch or wizard unused to transformations will be unable to cope with it. This also means that many catar's die in the process of their first transformation.**

And that was all they had. Hermione stared at the information, stunned. She snapped the book shut and pulled herself out of bed to go downstairs. She needed to confront her mother on this.

*

Disclaimer: What if I really did own Harry Potter? What if I was lying? What if I had a beard made out of green spinach? It wouldn't make much difference now would it?

I know, I know. Short chapter. I have a bag of marshmallows ready and waiting for all the flames I'm going to get. If you don't give me a flame, I'll have an extra marshmallow that I can give you. Tempted? Anyway, this is the last day before I go to school (boo, hiss) so I'm not going to be updating so often. At the most twice a week. Just to warn you. 

I'm sorry about the last chapter. It was mainly lyrics, but I couldn't think of anything else to put. 

Will Hermione's mother know about catar's? Does she have some more confessions for Hermione? Is Severus ever going to snap out of his illness? Am I ever going to stop asking pointless questions and giving the whole game away? Is anyone still listening to me? 

Thanks to everyone whose reviewed. I owe all of my big writer's ego that permits me to write extremely bad, short chapters to you. Don't take offence from that or anything. I should shut up now.

Redstrawberry900.


	6. AN Sorry!

Okay, look, I'm very sorry but I won't be updating for a while because I am getting so much homework. I mean it. If I get less than 5/6 hours a night I'm lucky. Thanks to everyone who reviewed but I'm afraid you're all going to be disappointed now. I wish I could get going but my teachers are so strict. Mrs. Bird told me off for breathing too loud in my last history test for God's sake. Also, my friend's mum has just had twins and my cousin has just had triplets and I'm dashing everywhere in my spare time helping, my boss is threatening to fire me if I'm late one more time even though he's cut my pay so many times I'm on minimum wage and I've got a concert to totally arrange by this Thursday. Finally, I'm totally broke (thanks boss!) and need a new keyboard because this one is broken and it's taking me forever just to get one key to come out. So, I'm very sorry, but I won't be updating for a week or two. Thanks.   


	7. Chapter 7, that should really be chapter...

Hermione lay on her back staring at the ceiling, because it was something different from constantly watching the calendar, desperately wishing the days would go faster. A fortnight. Two weeks. Fourteen days. Endless hours, minutes, seconds ticking slowly away on her clock. Her breathing was slow and even. Why had she suddenly noticed that? Why was it that you never noticed the most amazing things in life?

She had once been taught about God. Omniscient, omnipotent, good. She had listened avidly, learning eagerly, as she always had done. But then she learnt the truth about what her father was doing to her family, and she had begun to doubt. It didn't add up anymore. You could have any of those two things, but not all three – it just didn't make sense. Because as it is – as they believed it; as she had once believed it – omniscient God knew she was getting hurt; her mother was getting hurt; hundreds and thousands were getting hurt like that, or are going to. They were going to feel the same pain, hear the same thuds as their helpless bodies fell to the floor, and screw up their eyes against the hurt of a heavy boot connecting with their ribs. And He didn't lift a finger to stop it. Even though He could have, if He's omnipotent. So those two things ruled out the third – if He exists at all he can't be good. And that was only one example. The same applied to earthquakes that destructed cities; destructed millions of lives, floods, avalanches. Acts of God, their called. What kind of God would deliberately do that?

People had views, of course. God chooses not to interfere; disasters are made by man; we don't know the true reason, we can only believe in Him, and know He will help us through.

But she couldn't just believe. She had to have a reason, something that proved to her that there was a God, someone who would care for her and help her through. God was just people's complicated way of explaining away problems – a way that could never be described by reason, logic, arguing. No, God was just filler, something people needed to continue living. _He will help you find your way back. _

She turned over roughly, her nightclothes rumpling and her hair fanning out over the pillow. Merula mewed indignantly as she leant on her tail. A present from Harry and Ron for her sixteenth birthday, a month ago, a year after Crookshanks…that stupid knight bus. Roaring around corners without looking. She could still hear the screeching of brakes…Merula mewed again, and her luminous green eyes flicked on, like a light. Such a contrast to her blackbird colour coat. 

 He would be down there; she could hear his booming bark of laughter now and again, punctuated by her mother's high, nervous giggles. She wondered suddenly how much wine they had drunk now. The second bottle had already been uncorked and half-emptied when she got down there.

She had been determined to ask her mother about the information she had found in her book, inquire about whether she had known, and why she hadn't said anything. But she hadn't got further than the threshold of the living room. He was back, sitting next to her mother on the sofa, a glass of red wine clutched in one of his hand's, and the other wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She was his again, and he wasn't planning on letting her go. 

She stood in the doorway for fully five minutes, until her mother shifted underneath his arm, and he was forced to look up. Spotting her, his eyes widened with shock – as if he had forgotten she had existed; wanted to forget she existed, anger that she was disturbing his process of take-over. She would not be just his now, she would be hers as well. It was quickly masked under a layer of surprised happiness. 

"Why don't you come and sit down?" He asked, in a low voice, jerking his head slightly to the vacant space next to him. Her mouth had twitched at the corners quickly; only for him to know she had been listening. It was now or never.

"Mum, I found-"

"Not now love." He had said, in the same low voice, "She's asleep." And indeed, her eyes were shut, and an expression of contentment playing delicately with her features. How could she look like that when she was so close to him? How could she want to be near him, to touch him, to look at him, to sigh into his neck and feel wisps of hair brushing against her nose, irritating it slightly? How could she? 

"Come and sit down." He motioned again to the space.

"No thanks, Dad, I-"

"Sit." One word, but the real him had come through. She had been entangled quickly into his plan now, and he wasn't going to let her get away quickly. A shiver ran involuntarily down her back, remembering the commanding tone his voice held from before. Her mother shifted again under his arm, and her eyelids flicked upwards quickly, panic written all over her face.

"Hermione, love, what's going on?" She asked sleepily.

"Oh nothing Mum. I was just going to bed." She smiled fleetingly to reassure her, and turned to flee back to the safety of her room. She could almost see the scowl of annoyance on his face as he watched her retreating back. She was going to be more difficult to convince than her mother.

Hermione sighed as she went over it again in her mind, turning over again. Restlessness. Boredom. They plagued her – her worst enemies. 

Rain pounded against the windows and a gust of wind whistled around the house again and again. She shivered and pulled the duvet up and over her face to stop the icy tingling feeling, but at an indignant mew from Merula, she picked her up and pulled her close to her body, her deep purrs strangely comforting against her chest. The laughing had stopped now, and the sounds of them walking up the stairs had been left long behind. Merula stuck out a warm, rough tongue and rasped it across her hand. A small condolence.

*

Disclaimer: Surprising though it may be, I am not JKR and I did not write Harry Potter and I am not richer than the Queen. I am flat broke.

So, what did you think? It was kind of a pointless chapter, but needed anyway. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed – I love you all – but special thanks must go to:

Li-Chan: I was very impressed that you left two reviews. I agree. Stress is so stressful. I took a test yesterday in a meeting, and found out that I was 89% stress and that I should put out the nearest fire to make myself feel better. Funnily enough the fire alarm went off then…weird.

Fyrechild – Do not try it, I beg you! Especially if you have five boys that are exactly the same age – two born at 12:03 and three born at 12:05, that all look exactly the same, all cry at exactly the same time, and all need feeding in one go. Incidentally, two of them are named William and two of them are named Charlie! Sooo confuzzling. It is not advisable to get fired at the same time either. Cool name btw.

Opal Koboi – Sorry, your right, I did not mention you. I can't really say what part Snape has in this, but it will be more important than just the simple SS/HG thingy.

Gemz – Yes, I have noticed that actually. That her parents always seem to be arguing, I mean. I hate clichés, but it gives such good images and makes more of an interesting story. Anyway, can you imagine Hermione's parents not rowing in this fic? A little too strange I thought.

Eurgh. I got fired yesterday. That's why I'm writing this. Coz I have nothing better to do. So, on the good side, you can expect more chapters sooner. On the bad side, most chapters will be depressing, I expect. I'm not feeling especially happy. Not since I bought a new keyboard. I don't believe how expensive they are. 

Also, btw, I am a catholic, okay. None of my opinions are actually in this fic, but I want to make her question God for a bit, because it's part of the story. Not that I should have said that…

Thanks to whoever gave me the grammar tips. Haven't fixed it yet, but I will. I'm just a lazy sod really. 

Elliot: No, I'm not JKR. Shame really. I would have got the book out faster for you. Anyways, a Blue Moon is the second full moon in a month. And that doesn't often happen. That's why there's a saying, 'Once in a blue moon'. I think I've experienced…three? And if you think how many full moons there are…And yes, you may have a marshmallow. *throws the bag* I've gone off them.

Review! Review!

Berry.


	8. I think it's chapter 8, or six, or maybe...

**A/N** **Must read:  It is official. My computer is the biggest load of junk ever to hit this earth since the invention of time. Eurgh! Somebody mentioned that I take forever to get the events started. I have a quick message for everyone who thinks that, but was too scared to type it because I may have chopped their head off in a fit of rage. I am a foreplay girl. In other words, I tend to take forever and ever and ever and ever and ever to get round to the main point. I DO, however, have a well worked out plot, so I won't be writing myself into corners that I can't get out of. It's just; I'd find it hard to write myself out of a paper bag. That's another reason why it takes so long for me to get a chapter up. I find any action or verbal scenes like trying to eat fifty cars in one swallow. So, yeah, it may take a little while to get going. Unfortunately, not a particularly great chappie, but the next one should be more to your liking. I'm sorry if you don't like it like this, but this is the way I write and I won't be changing it! Also, in this chapter, I make several mentions to 'her father'. I mean it to be Mr. Granger. You see, Hermione's been calling him Dad forever, and it's not that easy to change. **

*

It rained hard all evening and into the night. Hermione woke to darkness, lay listening to the rain pounding the window, tried to sleep; couldn't. Not really in the mood for reading – she was a great fan of Japanese anime fiction – or listening to music, she turned on her bedside lamp and looked at her watch. One forty. 

She swung her legs out of bed, ignoring the indignant, sleepy mew from Merula as her foot brushed down her back, and went downstairs. The kitchen tiles were cold under her bare feet; the tap dripped annoyingly. She got herself a glass of water, and then stood by the patio doors. Rain battered the glass, steady rain, as if it was never going to stop; as if it would always be nighttime, and raining. 

There was nothing to do, but go out in it. Quietly, she slid the door open. The ground was wet and gritty; something crunched unpleasantly underfoot as she felt her way to the grass, avoiding the low wall. She stood on the soft lawn, and turned her face up to while the rain beat down hard, soaking her hair so it stuck to her back, running over her shoulders and down his back, clamming her nightdress to her legs. It seemed the obvious place to be: outside, not cocooned in bed. The sky was too overcast for stars, but a lighter patch of inky blue gave relief from the dark swirls of black clouds racing each other across the sky. Some clear night, she'd come out here and look. How many times had she done that? Not since she dropped astronomy. 

The rain was a kind of blessing as she stood outside, taking her away from the dangers of her life: the strange relentless force,  the hard ground receiving it, ,drinking it thirstily, and the sense of giving himself up to it, letting it drench him. 

"Hermione? Mia, is that you?"

She swung around. The downstairs hall light had been flicked on, silhouetting the shape of her father in the patio doorway, in his dressing gown. Something stirred inside her. She had forgotten about him. In the calm of the rain, she had lost all thought of her real life, the one she had to live. 

"What the hell are you doing? I heard the door open – thought we had burglars-"

Why had he heard the door open? He must have been awake – checking on her, making sure she was still there. And not running away. 

"No, only me."

"What – what are you-"

The words died in his throat. He was unable to say anything. Had she been trying to get away from him?

"Nothing." Hermione called back, shivering.

"Hey, what-" Her father came out to her, put an arm around her shoulders. "Come on in, you're soaked! You weren't sleepwalking, were you? You haven't done that since you were little!" He was being jokey, chatty. He wanted her to forget all that he had done to her. Wanted her to forgive him. To forget…

Hermione allowed herself to be ushered indoors, hating the feel of his arm around her. It felt like he was itching to strangle her; to get her out of the way. He took of his dressing gown and put it around her shoulders, without letting go of his grip on her. Hermione noticed suddenly, that it was her mother's pink satin one, streaked with rain.

"Dad! What-"

Her father grinned. "Picked up the wrong one in the dark." So that was why he was awake…her mother would be awake too, in the bed, waiting for him to come back. 

"You were going to tackle burglars wearing pink satin?"

Shared laughter was a release: muffled, as if trying not to wake her mother above. Not that they needed to have bothered, Hermione thought savagely. Now, he'll think I'm alright, I'm happy. I've forgotten. 

The rest of the conversation washed over her as she noticed Hedwig perched on the edge of the worktop in the kitchen. Her father was bustling around making hot chocolate. She walked towards the owl, feeling the fierce amber eyes blazing into her. She didn't blink, just smiled. 

Since the beginning of the war, Hedwig had become suspicious of everyone, except Harry; sent off on missions that often took her into the midst of a battle, she was wary of anyone she took a note to. She let off a shriek, and ducked her head downwards to the letter tied quickly to her leg. Hermione moved forwards cautiously. She had more than one scar derived from not keeping her guard. Untying the letter easily, she moved away, unfolding it as she went.

_Hermione,_

_            How are you? We're fine, apart from Ron, who's getting a lecture from Molly at the moment because pigwidgeon flew into the window again. He's becoming worse than Errol!_

_            We're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow, and want to know if you can come? If you can, we'll see you in Fortesque's at twelve. If not, we'll see on the train. _

_            **Please come, Hermione! **Shut up, Ron! _

_            Love, Harry. **And Ron!          **_

Hermione grinned. The Weasley twins new invention, talking quills, were a great success. You just had to talk to the quill, and it would write for you. Good, if you didn't want to write. Bad, if it picked up something else within twelve metres. She watched the puddle around her getting slowly larger and larger. 

*

Disclaimer: Don't own (surprisingly!!)

Yeah, short, crappy, don't tell me – I already know. Reviews are really appreciated. You don't even have to put more than one word. Just 'rubbish' will do. I want to make a tally of exactly how many people are actually reading this.

Li-Chan – You are swiftly becoming one of the lights of my life. You always review, always!! And you seem to like it!! Thank-you soooo much. I have made a tribute to you in this chappie!!! He, he, it's kinda hard to find though!!

Yes, I have low self-esteem. 

The berry monkey.  

P.S. My other cousin had her triplets yesterday at 10:30. So…that makes two sets of triplets and a set of twins. No, two sets of twins. My other friends mum has had twins. My life is taking a severe turn for the worse…


	9. Sorry it's been so long!

Wow….wow…wow….I can't stop saying wow. Yes, ,I've just finished the Order of the Phoenix and loved it to bits. It's in pride of place, and I mean to read it again after I've posted this. So what if I'll be up all night…

Anyhow, sorry about not getting a chapter up sooner. I'd love to explain, but have no time. Also, my sister wrote this in her spare time as she is one of my beta readers. She is an aspiring writer, and a very good one at that. Don't worry, I haven't changed the plot. She is the only person, and I mean THE only person that knows it, and I loved this bit so much that I decided to use it. That and I haven't had time to sit down at my computer for weeks. 

But you don't want to hear my whining about our dear teacher, Mrs. Umbridge. Don't ask. I really do have a teacher with that name. She's really evil and all. I'm taking that as a very prominent omen. I won't say anymore, in case anyone hasn't read it. Please inform me if you haven't because I'll watch what I say if you do.

*

Waking up was like moving upward through dark, murky water. Images chased each other around her mind. A plume of smoke, a train; a clearing between trees that were bent double with the weight of water saturating their leaves. And faces. Masked faces. Draco's face – wide eyes and yelling in shock…but why?

Hermione snapped her eyes open. She took a minute to focus on her surroundings, then bolted upright, staring in shock. 

She was sitting in a circular room around the size of her bedroom, though the ceiling in this room was about ten feet higher. It was built out of large stone blocks that looked very, very ancient – as if they'd been there since the beginning of time. Directly opposite her, an oak door was embedded firmly into the stone. It was criss-crossed with thick strips of iron that had been painted black. The paint was now old and peeling, and ominous looking black flakes on the floor, told Hermione this door had been opened recently. 

Questions immediately jumped into Hermione's mind. Where was she? How did she get here? When none of the barren walls gave any answers, and neither did staring blankly at the ceiling, she desperately cast her mind back to the last thing she remembered. Her father was walking up the stairs behind her. They were barely halfway when the front door burst open. Her mother was at the top of the stairs, shrieking like an owl. Ropes tied around her hands – a binding charm…her eyes forced to look…the memories were fading faster and faster, as if her brain would not let her see them…fumbling…a blinding flash of green light…bodies, crumpled…Draco…Draco's face….

The sound of the door rattling brought her suddenly back to her senses. The door knob, which – Hermione noticed suddenly – was shaped like a snake's head, was turning. The door scraped along the stone floor as it opened, sending a shiver up Hermione's spine. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light shining from behind him.

The wizard was dressed in a hooded robe of thick, green velvet, which dragged along the floor behind him. A belt was slung around his middle and tied at his hip. He wore ill fitting black satin gloves, which were enclosed around a vial of vivid blue liquid.

The figure took a few steps into the door, then the door slammed shut of its own accord. There was absolute silence in the room. The, the wizard brought his gloved hands up to his face, clapped them together rather forcefully…and the hood disappeared. 

Hermione screamed and skittered backwards on her elbows until she was pressed up the far wall as much as she could possibly go, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. 

There was a horrible, thwick-thwick sound, slightly muffled by the velvet, and Hermione could almost see the wizard walking slowly towards her. There was a sickening thuck-thuck as he fell to his knees.

"Look at me." His voice was hoarse, ,and mechanic, as if he hadn't used it in a thousand years. As if something invisible was forcing her, Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes. 

And saw exactly what she had before. The man's face was whiter than chalk, and his skin was uneven and holey, as if maggots were eating him alive. Vivid red eyes were sunk deep into his face, and his mouth was set in a grim line – pillar box red, as if it had been drawn by a disturbed child. He had no nose. Only a gaping black hole. 

But possibly the worst of all were the two jet black tattoos on his hollow cheeks. A skull, broken by a sword that smashed through the top, and three snakes baring their fangs, which were almost as big as their own pinched faces. One protruded out of each eye, and the other out the mouth. 

The only sound that Hermione could make was a high, piercing whine, that made the wizard wince. She desperately tired to speak - to get some of her questions answered, but she just gasped wordlessly, unable to wrench her eyes away from the ugly tattoos.

"Who are you?" She wasn't even aware she was asking the question, and started.

The wizard seemed surprised, if not horrified. "I know I have changed Rowena…but…surely…surely you recognize your own Salazar."

*

Disclaimer: Though I put no claim on any of these characters, the plot is mine, so ask nicely if you are desperate.

Anyhow, that was short, and I have loads of explaining to do next chapter – which probably won't be for another couple of weeks or something. I'll tell you then. For now, thanks to all my reviewers. It's due to you that I keep writing. Love you guys.

Abi. 


	10. Haha! She left me in charge!

Yes, I know the last chapter was confusing, but this chapter will explain certain things, etc. Anyways, on with the chapter!! Again, Hermione makes several references to 'her father' in this chapter. She doesn't mean Remus.

*

_Surely you recognize your own Salazar…recognize your own Salazar…Salazar. I know I have changed Rowena…_

"Rowena? No, no, you have the wrong person. My name is Hermione." Hermione stared at the wizard. He smiled slightly and reached out a gloved hand to stroke her hair. Hermione didn't move – she couldn't. His touch seemed to make her stiffen in…horror? No…delight? No, of course not…and yet…

"My beautiful Rowena, you do not realize who you are. I was afraid of this…Rowena…and now you call yourself…?"

"Hermione. Hermione Granger." 

"So, you picked Hermione Granger…interesting choice…Hermione…" Hermione let the shiver she had been holding back run down her spine. The way he said her name…it was unlike anything she had ever heard. Unlike the brutal shouts of her father, and the constant worried sound her mother's high jabber always carried. 

"I suppose I must explain then. Rowena, how could you have chosen someone so stubborn?" He tried to sound annoyed, but couldn't.  "It was you, you know. You brought me back. Like the prophecy said you would."

"I brought – but you're dead!" Hermione gasped as the wizard stamped his foot, and moved even closer towards her, so he was pressed right up against her, whispering in her ear. 

"It hurts me to hear you say that, my love." His gloved hand caressed her cheek. "After so many years wandering through nothingness, you finally brought me back." 

He stepped backwards, as if in shock from what he had just done. Hermione watched him warily. "Do you remember when I told you I would never truly die? No, you wouldn't, well then, I must start from the beginning." He began to pace in front of her. "We were children together, you and I. I have seen you at ever moment of your life – you never left my side. It was only at…fifteen, was it…that I told her I loved her more than my life. Of course, she told me that she had loved me all her life – like me. 

"It unlocked something inside me. I could do anything while I was with her, anything. I could have mastered the world."

"But she didn't want you to master the world," Hermione said, moving towards him slightly, "Did she?"

"I did everything for her…anything she wanted; I was there for her every whim. But then, we had The Argument. She called my sly; said I had no clear intentions and she didn't feel safe when I was around her, as if I was using her for an experiment. I said some things I shouldn't have; I know that now. I told her she was right, she was only there so I could perform spells. 

"I never spoke to her again. She had obviously been seeing Godric behind my back, as she seemed to be immediately with him. He was very protective of her. I was allowed nowhere near. He hated and distrusted me." He turned back to face Hermione, and beckoned her towards him. Hermione stayed firmly where she was, trying to ignore the guilt she felt as he sighed and continued.

"You cannot know how much that tortured me. He planted hate in her, a hate so vicious she would not even look at me. His smug look when they jumped apart alone was enough to drive anyone mad. I became a recluse, staying in my small room. They knew I had one, of course. Helga called it my 'Chamber of Secrets'. Rather pathetic if you ask me.

"Then she announced she was having Godric's child. Well, children, I should say. Twins. Brenna and Laveda. Brenna was the exact copy of Rowena – dark hair, pale skin; but Laveda was red-headed, with her mother's green eyes.

"I cursed Brenna. All her descendants would be male; until one female, a Gryffindor, would be so powerful it would overcome my descendant. She would see a true man, someone that loved her for who she was.  You are here, my Rowena. You are the female."

_Hmm…well, let's see. Intelligence, oh yes, a lot of intelligence. Too much if I may say so. Ravenclaw would be my first choice, but…wait…what is this? Courage…yes… truthfulness. Well, you are the girl. GRYFFINDOR! _

Hermione jumped at the memory of her sorting. So, that was why it had chosen Gryffindor. _Well, you are the girl. _A sudden sense of loss washed over her like she was getting into a cold bath. She had always prided herself in getting into Gryffindor – loved it because she saw it as the best of houses. Ravenclaw admittedly wasn't as bad as Slytherin – in her eyes nothing could be worse, sort of an irony, considering the man whose touch had made her shiver with pleasure, founded it. 

_Hermione…Hermione…are you there? If you can hear me, give me some sign…_the voice disappeared as soon as it had come. Hermione flinched, and stared wildly around. Who had said that? Slytherin watched her disappointedly.

"You are leaving me, Rowena. You want to be away from here." 

"Wh-What?" 

"You heard him calling you back?" Hermione nodded, her forehead creased in a frown. "You are dead to him, Hermione. I did not bring your body to me, just your soul. We are both here in soul form. You, because I called you to me…and I…I am here in soul form because I cannot take any other. I am weak, Rowena. It took me all my efforts to get back here. And now you…you who released me…you leave me."

_Hermione?__ HERMOINE? Merlin, Albus, I think she's dead… _

The voice echoed around the room. 

"Let me go." Hermione said quietly. "I will come back." 

"You will?" His head perked up, and he looked happier than Hermione had seen him. 

"I promise." Hermione didn't know what she was saying. The words were just saying themselves. She had no control. It wasn't her talking…

Her vision whirled as if she was traveling by floo powder, and she had the sudden feeling she was settling back into herself. 

*

Disclaimer: I would love to own Harry Potter, I really would. But for now I shall stop my life long ambition and just get back to writing. 

Hello again. I said I would explain why I've been aaaaaages in updating…so I will. You all know about the twins and triplets yes? Well, the triplets have had to be taken back into intensive care. I'm trying to be there for Katy as mush as possible, but it's not easy. Secondly, I've got a new tutor, and she's appointed me head girl (yay!!), so now I've got to sort out the affairs of everyone in the school, not just me. Thirdly, my computer has blown up and I'm in the process of getting another, but I'm having to use my sister's at the moment, and as she's in university and has a flat around ten miles away, and I can't drive…you get the picture. Anyhoo, I've given this note to her to write, and told her that she can write the next few chapters. I'll inform you when I'm back again okay? But, be nice to her. And don't stop reading because it's her. I should stop jabbering. 

Abu.

Merlin, she goes on. Okay, it's me now. Becky. The sister. Abu's a teensy bit preoccupied at the moment (teensy meaning a lot), so I'm writing for her. Yippee!! Okay, well I am actually planning on being a writer, and I'm just using this to practice a bit. I'm not scared of criticism either, so don't think I'm going to go all defensive over my chapters because you said something bad about them. 

I'm trying not to turn into Abu, but I've been asked if we're twins before now, so there you go. And were not twins. Not everyone is having multiple births. But, I think there is something in the water. I will update more than her, never fear. 

Becky.  


	11. angels wings shine with the glory of God...

_Playground school bell rings again_

_Rain clouds come to play again_

_Has no one told you she's not breathing?_

_Hello I'm your mind giving you_

_Someone to talk to _

_Hello?_

_If I smile and don't believe _

_Soon I know I'll wake from this dream_

_Don't try to fix me – I'm not broken_

_Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can hide_

_Don't cry_

_Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping _

_Hello, I'm still here_

_All that's left of yesterday…_

_All that's left…_

All she could think was how nice it was to lie in limbo, blood still warm on her skin, to not have to think – not have to feel. Tears leaked out through eyes that refused to open. She wouldn't open them. The temptation of never having to wake and face reality again was too great. A feeling of ecstasy filled her as she thought of never having to face anyone again. Never having to put on a face. Never facing that insuppressible feeling that she was different – that she didn't belong there, anywhere. 

_But when I had you my life took a dip…_She was a burden to her mother, a burden to everyone. Conceived by an accident. She wasn't wanted here. No one needed her…it would be better if she just left them. _I want you to understand, Hermione, that your father has cared for you ever since you were born…_Maybe someone wanted her? Maybe there was a slim chance that she was wanted by someone? _Your father has cared for you ever since you were born…_Cared for her? Cared for her so much that he almost killed her on several occasions? 

Why was her life like this? Why couldn't she have a normal life, without Hogwarts, without all that had happened over the past six years? Why couldn't she just rewind, and start again? She would agree with her mother this time; agree not to go to Hogwarts, agree to stay in the small town where she lived and never have anything to do with wizards or witches. She would never find out about Remus, she would never have to be beaten, never experience the stinging pain of a foot in the chest – never know what a broken rib felt like…

"Hermione…Hermione…Oh Hermione, I'm so sorry…" Her mother's voice calling to her, so close she was practically whispering in her ear. Hermione couldn't stop another flood of tears finding their way down her cheeks, but she didn't care anymore. Her mother was still alive, and she was next to her. Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she turned towards the voice that was calling her. And got the shock of her life. 

Her mother was indeed lying next to her, but she was barely alive. Her chest was rising and falling irregularly – she was having trouble breathing. Her face was soaked in sweat, plastering her hair to her face, and sliding down her neck in drops. She was trembling. 

"Hermione, Hermione…" Her mother struggled to talk. "I'm so sorry…I couldn't stop him Hermione, I couldn't. He said something…Crucio! That was it…" Hermione reached out a hand and clasped her mother's. It was immediately encased in a vice like grip. "You were always a quiet baby, Hermione."

"No one ever answered to my screams." Hermione's voice was strangely calm. Anger pulsed through her blood. She knew without asking who had put the cruciatus curse on her mother. Slytherin. But her mother kept talking. 

"You kept falling into things…tables, chairs…"

"His fist." She didn't even ask where he was. She didn't care if he was alive or dead. 

"You never told me anything…"

"He said he'd get me if I did." _If you ever tell Jill about anything, anything that happened today, you'll regret it. I'll get you, Hermione, I will. What's a man if he can't order around his females? _She flinched at the memory, and had to close her eyes to block it out. When she opened them, the woman lying next to her was dead. 

IF I KNEW   
  
If I knew it would be the last time   
That I'd see you fall asleep,   
I would tuck you in more tightly   
and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.   
  
If I knew it would be the last time   
that I see you walk out the door,   
I would give you a hug and kiss   
and call you back for one more.   
  
If I knew it would be the last time   
I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise,   
I would video tape each action and word,   
so I could play them back day after day.   
  
If I knew it would be the last time,   
I could spare an extra minute   
to stop and say "I love you,"   
instead of assuming you would KNOW I do.   
  
If I knew it would be the last time   
I would be there to share your day,   
Well I'm sure you'll have so many more,   
so I can let just this one slip away.   
  
For surely there's always tomorrow   
to make up for an oversight,   
and we always get a second chance   
to make everything just right.   
  
There will always be another day   
to say "I love you,"   
And certainly there's another chance   
to say our "Anything I can do?"   
  
But just in case I might be wrong,   
and today is all I get,   
I'd like to say how much I love you   
and I hope we never forget.   
  
Tomorrow is not promised to anyone,   
young or old alike,   
And today may be the last chance   
you get to hold your loved one tight.   
  
So if you're waiting for tomorrow,   
why not do it today?   
For if tomorrow never comes,   
you'll surely regret the day,   
  
That you didn't take that extra time   
for a smile, a hug, or a kiss   
and you were too busy to grant someone,   
what turned out to be their one last wish.   
  
So hold your loved ones close today,   
and whisper in their ear,   
Tell them how much you love them   
and that you'll always hold them dear   
  
Take time to say "I'm sorry,"   
"Please forgive me," "Thank you," or "It's okay."   
And if tomorrow never comes,   
you'll have no regrets about today.

*

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it.

This chapter took me three days peeps. Oh, and guess what. The other day I chipped a piece of my ankle joint – the left one. I phoned Abu up to tell her…only to find she's gone and done the same thing with her right leg!


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